


confidential

by titaniaeli



Series: the cry of war [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort/Angst, Family Feels, Fluff, Forced Prostitution, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Outtakes, Panic Attacks, Post-War, Protective Siblings, Rebellion, Recovery, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Victor!Gale, gale's siblings mean the fucking world to him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-10-05 17:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniaeli/pseuds/titaniaeli
Summary: Outtakes from 'fire burns brighter in the dark'. What happens in between, and after the end.





	1. cooking with the mayor's daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Second Rebellion.

He doesn’t know how he was roped into cooking with Madge Undersee. Or why did he even agree.

But here he was, in the kitchen, with the Mayor’s daughter of all people, staring at the assortment of utensils and ingredients on the table.

“What are we cooking again?” He asked, feeling a headache pounding away at the back of his head.

Madge looked stressed as she goes over the ingredients once more. She was muttering under her breath, reciting the recipe.

“Yeah, no.” He scowled, pushing her aside to pick up the empty bowl. “What’s the first step?”

Madge’s head jerked up in surprise, before she hurriedly grabbed the piece of paper on the table. He could make out scribbles on the small paper.

“Um, we’re baking a strawberry cheesecake!” She explained. “So, um, throw in the cream cheese and sugar in the bowl.”

“You weren’t lying when you said you have never done this before.” He sighed. “Give me the damn recipe.”

She blinked owlishly at him as the paper was snatched from her hand.

“Here, do what I tell you.” He ordered, shoving the bowl at her. She quickly put the bowl down in front of her, like a startled rabbit. “That would be 8 ounces of cream and ¾ cups of sugar.”

She was hastily trying to follow his instructions and he had to stifle a snicker at the smear of cream on her cheek when she accidentally scooped the cream out of the container too hard.

“Slow down. This is not a competition.” He smirked. “Besides, you shouldn’t be wasting food.”

He tilted his head and glanced at the spilled sugar on the table. She flushed red in embarrassment, grimacing as she dusted the sugar into the bin. Once she was done preparing all the ingredients, she slowly tossed them into the bowl to mix. It was harder than it looked, the spoon getting caught in the thick, sludgy mixture.

“You need to be putting your body weight in it.” He murmured, leaning over to help her. “Or else you’ll hurt your wrist.”

She froze as his long fingers wrapped over her hand, cupping over her knuckles. He slid closer, his body not quite touching hers, but close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. She swore her heart tripped over a beat at the whisper of his breath fluttering the golden curl of her hair.

“You’re surprisingly familiar with this.” She said calmly.

She could feel the movement of his shoulder raising up in a nonchalant shrug.

“Sometimes when ma comes home from work, she’s too tired to cook. So... I know my way around the kitchen a little.” He explained.

When he moved away, she’s too nervous to notice that his hand was gone from hers.

“Alright, add in three eggs and one teaspoon of vanilla extract.” Gale said, picking up the tiny bottle of vanilla extract.

Madge peered at him as she cracked the eggs into the bowl. He looked focused and distracted at the same time, and there was something incredibly endearing about his determination to get this right. His eyes have lost the heavy, cloudy look, instead concentrating on the task in front of him.

Gale took out the packaged pie crust out of its plastic bag, wrinkling his nose at the Capitol company stamp. It was just like the Capitol to package food in little bags for sale.

“Okay, so the recipe says to pour the mixture into the pie crust.” Madge muttered, peering at the piece of paper.

He leaned back in interest as she picked up the bowl and started to slowly pour the mixture into the pie crust.

“Now we just have to bake the cake!” She smiled excitedly, looking surprisingly childish over something as trivial as baking.

They slid the pie crust into the heated oven, closing the lid and letting it baked.

“So, we have to wait for forty-five minutes now.” She sighed.

The cream on her cheek was really distracting him. It was just _there_ , taunting him with its little blot of white on her cheek. Before he could stop himself, he had reached over to swipe his thumb over the stain.

“Wha—” Madge squeaked, going utterly still.

“Sorry,” He shrugged. “There was... cream on your face.”

Her cheeks go apple red and she hurriedly swiped at her face.

“You should stay.” She muttered. “Until the cake is ready. Until we put in the strawberry filling.”

He stared at her silently, gauging her sincerity and motives. He wondered why she invited him in, and why he accepted. He worried his lip, glancing at the mess in the kitchen and felt like an asshole if he was to leave now and dumped all the mess for her to clean.

“Okay.” He stayed.

And afterwards, he let the soft melody of her piano cradled him in its deep, gentle tune, reflecting on her ability to bring music to life. There was something disarming about her music. Perhaps like Katniss’s voice was to mockingjays, Madge’s piano playing was to him.


	2. nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after Gale’s return from his Games, Posy came knocking on his door one night after a bad dream.

The door was locked. There’s someone banging on his door.

He hasn’t been sleeping well since his return, and had just been staring blankly at the ceiling, obstinately ignoring the spectres his wandering, over imaginative mind has conjured up.

He startled at the loud knocking, his body instinctively jerking up in a defensive stance. As he slowly registered his surroundings, he calmed down and slipped out of bed. He unlocked the door and peered out tiredly, frowning when he saw nothing. Then, his gaze trailed lower.

“Posy?” His voice betrayed his surprise. The little girl immediately ran forward, imperiously holding out her arms. Sighing, he bended down to pick her up. She instantly wrapped her skinny arms around his neck, sniffling. She must have crept out of his mother’s bed and snuck out of her room. “Posy, what’s wrong?”

“I dreamt you died.” She whimpered. “No matter how much I call you to wake up, you wouldn’t wake up. You kept... bleeding.”

He inwardly cursed at himself. He’s not the only one in this family that has to suffer in the wake of the 72nd Hunger Games.

“It’s just a bad dream, Posy.” He said softly, carrying her towards the bed. She sobbed and buried her face into his neck. He slipped back under the blankets, and carefully adjusted her body so she wouldn’t get a cramp in her neck or back the next day. Even as he gently moved her, she wouldn’t let go of him, stubbornly clinging onto him as if he might disappear the moment she released her hold.

“It’s scary.” She sniffed, little hiccups that jerked her body. “There’s... blood everywhere.”

Anger stabbed at his stomach, heating up as it spread to his chest. His little sister was barely three, and she already knew what death meant. He hated the mandatory viewing, hated that Posy had to watch such a barbaric and horrific thing every year.

She’s far too young to see things that no adult even has to see.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m home now, Posy.” He assured, caressing her dark hair lightly. “I’m not dead.”

Her eyes were like dark waters under the blankets, and when she peeked at him, there was something heartbreakingly solemn in them.

“Promise me?” She whispered. “Promise me you won’t leave me?”

His heart ached something fierce, a quiet, dark pain that threatened to bring him to tears. He heard the silent fear in Posy’s voice, and hated that a child like her have to ever feel this way.

“I promise.” He murmured, and hoped that it’s a promise he would never have to break.

She goes quiet, trusting and unsuspicious, closing her eyes. She’s still shivering slightly, so he rubbed her back comfortingly and hummed a sad melody. Until her shaking eased, until her breathing goes even.

He was still awake when the birds twittered outside his window and the sky slowly brightened into a soft pale blue. **  
**


	3. rumours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What exactly happened with Thom and Bristel and the Merchant kids in chapter 24 of fire burns brighter in the dark.

Thom hadn’t meant to be eavesdropping on the three Merchant kids walking in front of him. They were, well, just there. Talking loudly for the entire world to hear. And well, because he heard Gale’s name being mentioned and he could not help but be curious.

“...I swear, I’m not lying. He has a woman who looks old enough to be his mother hanging off his arm.” The girl said excitedly.

“The photo is blurry. You can’t be sure.” The other two boys looked far more sceptical at her claims, twin look of disbelief on their faces. Must be brothers. “Besides, you’re talking about _Gale Hawthorne_ , right?”

“I’m not mistaken.” The Merchant girl insisted. “He was in my class last year.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Hawthorne has always been tramping around with those girls back before his Games. I don’t believe he’s not sleeping with Everdeen. Whatever they say, there’s no way they can just be friends with the amount of time they spent in the woods alone.” The first boy scoffed. “Maybe fame and money has gone to his head. He might be a Victor now but a Seam rat will always be a Seam rat. I mean, look at Abernathy. He’s nothing but a drunkard. Hawthorne is not any different.”

“Hawthorne’s pretty for a Seam boy.” The girl giggled. “He probably has no shortage of women willing to fuck him in the Capitol.”

The rage was climbing the longer he listened to the filth coming from their mouths. He cannot believe that they had just insinuated that Gale was sleeping with Katniss. God, she was barely _fifteen_.  

“Fuck him? Like that woman that looks old enough to be his mother?” The second boy snorted in derision. “Seems to me he’s too busy whoring around and sucking cocks in the Capitol to remember _what_ he really is. He’s just a poor wretch that has been brainwashed by the Capitol. I think he spent too much time on his knees to remember his loyalty to his own district.”

Thom snapped.

He stomped forward and tapped the first bastard that has been implying shit between Katniss and Gale on the shoulder. When the Merchant boy turned around, he swung his first forward into the asshole’s face.

There was a satisfying crunch when his fist met the boy’s nose.

Bristel hasn’t even pause, just grabbed the Merchant girl’s ponytail and slapped her across the face so hard she dropped to the ground. When the second boy tried to help her, Bristel lunged at him and punched him in the solar plexus.

“What the fuck—” The girl spluttered, her cheek rapidly reddening. She stared up at them in pure shock.

“Talk like that about Gale again and I’ll break that pretty face of yours.” Bristel threatened.

The second boy had been wheezing in pain, bended over at his waist. But he managed an ugly sneer that distorted his face. “Why? You fucking Hawthorne as well? You really must tell me how a Victor’s cock feels like—”

Bristel kicked him in the face.

That’s about then that Thom realized they were attracting stares. He jumped forward and pulled Bristel back from the Merchant boy, grimacing at her furious struggles.

“Okay, we have to go now.” He muttered.

Bristel goes slack in his arms, but he didn’t have to look at her face to know that she’s fuming. Because he’s pissed as hell too, the anger rolling hot and crimson in his chest.  

He eventually found his way to Delly’s house and he knocked on her backdoor impatiently.  
  
“Thom!” Delly’s brother, Ethan, greeted cheerfully. His smile slipped when he noticed the bruised knuckles and the fury on both of their faces. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Sorry, is your sister in?” Thom asked breathlessly. Bristel had not been really cooperative when he dragged her away, and his arms were starting to ache from the struggle.

“Yeah, you should get those hands look at.” Ethan observed. He opened the backdoor to let them in and turned to yell for Delly.

“Thom!” The blonde walked out of the kitchen, and a smile slid across her face when she saw him. It was unlike her normal friendly smile, not that anyone else would notice the difference. There was something softer, fonder in her smiles whenever she looked at him, and the way her eyes would go terribly gentle – like he’s the only one she sees – that made his heart skipped a beat every time.

“Hey, Delly.” Despite the anger, he couldn’t help but smiled back, walking over to kiss her chastely.

She turned to greet Bristel, but her smile faltered when she saw the bruised knuckle. She checked Thom’s hand as well, and a thin frown flickered over her expression when she noticed a similar bruise – although Bristel’s condition looked worse.

“What happened?” She asked, already moving to grab some ice and cloth.

While Thom angrily explained what happened, she sat Bristel down to ice down the swelling on her hand.

“That was incredibly foolish of both of you.” Delly sighed, slapping down some ointment on Bristel’s hand. She gave them a measured look that made guilt prickled over Thom’s neck. “You should have hit them in a more secluded area.”

Bristel grinned, sharp and feral in her amusement. Thom burst out laughing, and fell a little harder for the shopkeeper’s daughter.

“Unfortunately, this is not the worst I have heard these kids talked about Gale.” She murmured, her eyes going sad. “Poor Gale. He doesn’t deserve all these horrible rumours.”

“What else are they saying about Gale?” Bristel asked furiously, always quick to raise up to her friends’ defence.

“They said he’s a _murderer_.” Delly’s voice lowered, going hushed and angry. “They said he’s a traitor to the District... just because of some stupid gossip magazines.”

Thom sat down dumbly, pale with anger. His best friend had fought so hard to return home – and now he was being repaid with such horrible slurs to his person.

“He’s _not_ a murderer.” He hissed. “They are wrong. They are _wrong_.”

Delly’s expression was understanding. “I know. _I know_. I tried to stop them... but you know _rumours_. It spread too quickly before I can stop them.”

“Not your fault.” Bristel sighed, shaking her head.

“I need to see Gale.” He said abruptly, standing up. Not to confront Gale or anything, but he needed to see his best friend... To make sure he’s doing okay.

“Thom, wait, your hand...” Delly stood up quickly too, reaching out for him.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead fondly. “Just a slight pain. I’ll ice it once I go home.”

He left Delly’s house, shivering slightly in the cold. Delly’s house had been comfortably warm, and he would like nothing more than to cuddle up beside her. But. _Gale_.

He just needed to make sure.


	4. the little book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens post-war.

Weeks after returning to District 12, Gale decided to start his own little project – inspired by Katniss’s own little book.

It took days, weeks, _months_. Because every entry brought a wave of agony and grief that wracked his body, threatened to drag him back into the abyss again, forced him to tumble head first into relapse after relapse.

Thom had said it was cruel to do this to himself, but he _needed_ this. He needed to face his ghosts, needed to stop seeing them everywhere he looked.

He started with his father, who left him before he’s ready. He doubted anyone would ever be ready for a parent’s death. Tobias Hawthorne, who had died suffocating in the deep, dark mines. He hoped his father had died instantly in the explosion.

Then, he continued with Sara Alder, noted little details of her that he noticed during their brief time together. Her older-younger twin sister, Nelly, who died far too soon. Her mother. The little crinkles that creased her forehead whenever she smiled. The hiccup in her voice as she laughed. 

He tried to sketch out her image as best as he could. While not an artist like Peeta, he deemed his own skills good enough. At least he managed to do her picture justice.

How she looked like at fifteen, never growing older. An immortal at death.

And his first kill in the arena, Emmer of District 11. The dark caramel skin, the fierce eyes and the stoic tilt of his full lips. He tried to remember Emmer as he was during the interview, not the moment of his death. His skull crushed in, blood splattered all over his face and chest.

Calix, and his blue, blue eyes. He tried to find the exact colour of his eyes, digging through Peeta’s paints. It wasn’t hard to remember Calix’s eye colour, as Calix continued to follow him around in his waking hours.

Lea, and her ringing laughter. Lea and her hazel eyes and short, wavy hair. Lea and her awful innuendos. Lea and her tying the stem of a cherry with her tongue. Lea and her love for honey to sweeten her tea. Lea, who he was relieved he hadn’t had to personally kill.

Dayta joined his book next, the auburn-haired girl with a sharp wit and sly smile. Dayta, who died screaming and crying out for help. He saw her death often in his nightmares. She’s the only one who he couldn’t draw out, the only one whose photo he had to procure from Effie. He couldn’t remember her face, the shock of her ghastly death sending him into a panic attack whenever he tried to remember how she looked like – because all he could see was her mutilated face and mangled body.

Coral’s picture was drawn with a snarl twisting her soft lips, her eyes wide with anger on her elfish face. She was the ocean’s wrath written in her very expression, the vast, vast waters in her grey eyes.

He wrote about Madam Calysta and her tragic life – her unborn child, her lost husband. Giving up her life to rebel against the Capitol in her own way. The brother that mourned her, long before she was executed on live television. Her cold elegance, her unshakeable grace. Her lonely back and sad, wintry eyes.

She had died without a hint of fear or anger, just a muted satisfaction twisted in her crimson lips.

He added Cinna and Portia. Cinna, whose hands could work magic with whatever fabric he touched. His serenity and confidence hiding a mad man beneath. Portia, who looked at him and saw someone thoughtful, gentle and respectful the first time they met, everything he wasn’t, everything he’s striving to be. Portia, who asked him what’s his favourite colour. Portia, who gave a shit.

Ash Liatris and Yara Fennel, who both died too young in this war. Two senseless deaths in a game of death. Two ‘savages’ who ate with their hands, who tried so hard, who never stood a chance at all.

Boggs, the Leeg sisters, Jackson, Mitchell, Homes, Castor and Messalla. They started with fifteen in their squadron, but left with seven at the end.

And all those Victors who had died in the 75th Hunger Games and the Purge.

If he continued to write about those people that have been lost during the bombing on District 12, one book would not be enough.

It’s not therapeutic. It’s excruciating. Gale has always been good at blaming himself. He has always been good at running away until he couldn’t, until all the grief crushed him.

And when he’s finally done, when his little book was full of memories of the dead, he packed up and stopped by District 4. And with Finnick and Annie’s son cradled in his arms, he thought he could start living again by trying to breathe first. One step at a time.


	5. Posy's hero

**_My hero is..._ **

 

My hero is my brother. He’s a Victor and a survivor of the second rebellion.

He’s the strongest person I know, right after my mother. But sometimes he’s the strongest, and my mother’s second. He raised my brothers and I after papa died in a mining explosion, even though he’s barely any older than us.

When he was reaped, I was so scared he’ll never come back. But he did and we moved to a new house and a new life. We have food whenever we want, and nice clothes to wear.

My feet no longer hurt in my old shoes, because I have new shoes now.

My brother came back strange and different. Ma says he’s sick, but not in the body. He’s unwell in the head. He has gone through a lot. He gets scared easily now and sometimes we have to be careful not to startle him. We must be patient with him. I can be patient as long as my brother needs. Big brother has always been the strongest to me, and that has never change.

Rory says he’s going through a tough time and tells me I having nothing to fear from him.

Different or not, he’s still my big brother. There’s nothing scary about him. He’s still my kind and gentle brother. Maybe a little broken, but broken things can be fixed, even if we have to go slow and careful.

School starts teaching about the enslavement of the Victors, so we will learn from our past mistakes. All I learn is that the past President has hurt my big brother really badly.

I want things to be better for my brother. I want him to be happy. And no matter what happens, I want to be there for him.

I’m glad big brother comes back home to us.


	6. Posy's hero sequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues from chapter 5.

“Gale! You should have told me you’re coming back today. I would have gone to the station to pick you up.” Rory scowled, grabbing his older brother into a tight embrace. He was happy to see that Gale looked healthier than he did before he left for District 2. He still has dark circles under his eyes, and he still felt a little too thin when he hugged him, but it’s a relief to see him standing alive in their living room.

Rory was not that young to not remember the days after Gale’s return from the arena. He could still remember the terror and shock when he found Gale convulsing in his bed that one horrible morning. It did take a while before he could understand the sheer magnitude of what Gale had done, of what he _tried_ to do.

His older brother, who always seemed larger than life, tried to kill himself?

That day turned his entire life around, making him realized that life would no longer be the same anymore. His brother had come back from the arena with a piece of him gone.

And right after the war, when Plutarch had brought his mother and siblings to the Capitol. They were never explicably told, but Rory had overheard Plutarch talking to his mother about how Gale had tried to bite off his tongue to prevent capture.

Perhaps others might call his brother a coward, but Rory remembered the _waiting_ in District 13, never knowing if his older brother was still alive. If he was already killed by the Capitol. And the waiting when Thom and Bristel had gone out to rescue his brother. More waiting when he came back half-dead and remaining unconscious for days.

When it came to Gale, Rory spent a lot of time waiting.

So Rory would fight anyone who called his brother a coward, or a traitor, or a whore, or any sort of derogatory names. He had grown up hearing insults to Gale, even after the war, when everyone should have been hailing him a hero. But he was older now, and he knew that even in certain places, being a Victor was a stigma – even if Gale Hawthorne had been one of those people that nearly died for the rebellion cause. A cause that Rory personally thought that Gale should have no more business being a part of, after his torture.

“There was a sudden change of schedule. The train set off early.” Gale smiled.

He glanced behind Gale, as if expecting a certain blonde to pop out from behind his back. “Where’s Madge? I thought she’s coming back with you.”

“She said she wanted to visit the graves first.” Gale said.

There was a shriek from the stairs and they glanced over in alarm. Only to see an excited Posy running towards Gale, with an exasperated Vick grinning behind her.

“Big brother, you’re home!” She squealed. Gale laughed and ruffled her hair, picking her up in his arms easily.

“How long are you staying?” Vick asked.

“Two weeks.” Gale replied, before trailing his gaze searchingly over his youngest brother. “You’ve grown, Vick. One day you’ll be taller than both of us.”

Vick blushed, before he came forward to hug him.

A fact that Rory would always be irked at. At two years younger, Vick was already nearing his height. It was unfair that his younger brother would grow taller than him one day.

“Gale, look at this! Look at this!” Posy unfolded a piece of paper and pushed it into Gale’s hands exuberantly. “Vick helped me with it. I got full marks in English class and Mrs Tomas was so nice to make me a copy! She says I should let you read it!”

It took a second before he realized what Posy was making Gale read. After all, he had helped her with her latest homework. Well, helped was an overstatement. He merely hovered around while Vick helped her with her spellings.

“Okay, okay.” Gale laughed fondly, putting her down gently to look at the paper. He brushed the creases from the paper, his grey eyes skimming across the words. Something goes soft in his face, before surprise welled behind his eyes. “Posy... this is...” His voice choked in his throat, and when he glanced up from the short essay, his lashes were damp with tears.

“Is... Is it okay?” Posy asked nervously.

Rory thought his heart would break at the look of utter confusion on his older brother’s face, like he doesn’t believe a single word Posy had wrote.

“Is this what you really think of me?” Gale asked softly.

This time, it’s Posy’s turn to look bewildered. “Yes! Of course! Vick says I must write from my heart! I don’t know what he means by that, but everything in there is the truth!”

Gale laughed, but it’s fractured and sad, quite like his heart. He sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around Posy’s neck. His little sister clung back immediately, offering comfort and love just like she promised.

 _This_ was why he done what he did in the Capitol, letting Snow sell his body. It was all worth it this way. At the end of the day, even if he came back broken, his brothers would always be there to catch him, his sister would always look at him as if he hung the stars on the night sky. They saved him, unknowingly or not.

So instead of apologizing for all the thousand times he let them down, he thanked Posy with tears in his voice and thought maybe it’s time he starts acknowledging that he saved them too. 


	7. baby odair

District 4 was different after the war. The fish markets along the port, the lights and colourful signboards, the cheerful laughter, the smiles when they recognized him. For the first time in a long time, he felt as light as air. Coming to District 4 had been a good decision.

He took a shortcut through the beach, the sea salt caught in his hair as he meandered down the shore. He was at ease, even with the ocean so close to his feet, dampening the soles of his shoes.

By the time he reached Finnick’s house, he was shivering in his thin jacket, not expecting the ocean breeze to be so frigid and biting against his skin. His dark hair was windswept from his short trek through the beach.

“I feel cold looking at you.” Was Johanna’s first words upon opening the door. “Come in.”

He shuffled into the house gratefully, sighing at the wash of warmth over his skin.

“You’re late.” Finnick scowled, but his bright eyes were gleaming in mirth as he came forward to haul him into a hug. “You were supposed to be here this morning.”

“I can’t make the train go faster even if I want to.” He smirked, rolling his eyes. “Now where’s the kid? I didn’t come all the way here just to see that smug face of yours.”

“You love my smug face.” Finnick grinned.

“The kid is here.” Annie’s laughing voice called from the living room. He brushed past Finnick with just the slightest flutter of trepidation thrumming in his chest. One would think he loved kids considering how he had practically raised his siblings up while his mother was busy with work, but when it came to kids that were not his siblings, he has a mild aversion to them.

“He looked just like you.” He said quietly with wonder. The baby has a slight fuzz of light brown hair on top of his head, and long lashes that feathered over his beautiful sea-green eyes. When he crouched down in front of Annie and her son, the baby let out a giggle and reached out for him.

“No, he’s all Finnick.” Annie protested, but she was smiling widely.

He shook his head. “Not all. He has your hair and chin.” But the smile was definitely all Finnick.

“Tristan Odair.” Finnick declared, looking like the proudest father on earth. “Come on, Gale, carry him.”

“What.” He grimaced.

Johanna laughed as she re-entered the room, a blanket folded in her arms. She tossed it over his shoulders and forced him to sit down beside Annie.

“Carry him.” Annie said gently. Without waiting for his reply, she slipped her son into his arms. He only managed _not_ to drop the baby, swiftly adjusting the tiny body in his arms.

Tristan curled his little fingers into the blanket falling over his head, his lovely eyes widening as he gazed up at him.

“Oh, you are magnificent.” Finnick sniggered, smiling wide enough that it has to hurt. “I guess you’re used to carrying children when your siblings are young.”

His murmur was noncommittal, and Finnick knew that he has lost his friend the moment Tristan was pushed into his arms.

“Say hello to uncle Gale.” Johanna smirked, peering down at the baby over his shoulder. But there was a certain softness in the lines around her face, a tenderness that she must have fought to attain after months of recovery and freedom.

District 4 was good for her, he mused.

There was a clicking sound going off near his head and he blinked in surprise, looking up to find Annie with a camera pointed towards him and the baby.

“I thought that Katniss would appreciate this.” She tittered, waving the camera at him.

He sighed, but it was tolerant.

“Can you give me one as well?” He asked.

Without hesitation, she raised the camera again. And when Johanna hollered at her to wait as she arranged herself beside him, she laughed in amusement, stifling a snort as Finnick stuck out his tongue behind them.

“Are you ready?” She called, smiling when Tristan whooped in response. “Okay, one... two... three…”

The camera light flashed.


	8. breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Katniss shot President Coin, Gale fell apart. His friends take care of him in the aftermath.

After Thom and Bristel have dragged him away from the chaos, it felt like he had simply... switched off. He faintly registered Thom’s hand on his elbow, Bristel’s warmth at his back.

“Thom? Thom, wait up!” Delly yelled, trying to shove through the crowd to reach them.

Bristel pulled away to help the blonde, dragging her forward. They managed to make it back to the mansion, finally safe from the confusion and mayhem outside.

“Why did she did that?” Bristel asked, gritting her teeth.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who she’s referring to.

“Is Snow dead?” Grey eyes flared with life, and he seemed to come awake. _“Is Snow dead?”_

His tongue and mouth hurts like a bitch, but he forced his words out with sheer spite.  

“He’s dead.” A soft, feminine voice joined in. The group looked over to see Madge Undersee standing at the doorway. “After President Coin fell off, when the crowd goes crazy... I’m not too sure if he died choking on his own blood or killed by those people. But... he’s dead, Gale.”

He goes limp, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. The man who had caused him so much pain, who had sold his body, who threatened his family, who came into his house while they were home to frighten him and who had tortured him... was finally dead.

He didn’t cry, but his shoulders started shaking. It took a moment before they realized that he was laughing.

“Gale?” Delly called out anxiously.

He bended over at his waist, burying his face into his hands and heaved into them. Great, shuddering gasps jolted his body, panic trembling through his limbs. He was cold, the chills running through his veins, like he would never be warm again. He tried to get himself under control, but he couldn’t stop the shakes.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re safe.” Madge’s voice was suddenly so close, until he registered her body beside him. Her small hand rubbed his back in comfort.

 _He’s not weak_ , he wanted to tell her. He doesn’t want to be treated like he’s glass, but his body was betraying him. He survived torture, he survived the Capitol’s ‘tender’ admiration, he survived addiction. And even when he tried to kill himself, the rebellion refused to let him go.

Now Snow was dead. Coin was dead. So why was he falling apart?

“Breathe, please.” Madge begged. “Don’t drift off. Stay with me. _Look at me_.”

Her abrupt command managed to drag him away from the haze, just an instant. But an instant was all he needed to latch onto the brown eyes staring at him. She was so close he could make out the golden flecks in her eyes.

“Deep breaths.” Madge said softly, and for some reason, he’s reminded of Annie’s breathing exercises.

He never thought breathing would be such a difficult task.

When the panic started to fade from his limbs, he felt tired. Drained. And his heart was still beating a little faster than normal.

“How do you feel?” Thom asked softly, hovering anxiously behind Madge.

“Like I wanted to sleep for a thousand years.” He rasped.

Madge slowly slipped her hands away from him, as his shivering started to ease. Thom practically had to half-carry him onto the bed.

“Drink something, Gale.” Delly said timidly, taking his hands and wrapping them around a glass of warm water. She continued rubbing his arms, as if she could rub her warmth into his limbs if she tried hard enough. Madge had jumped onto the bed, leaning over them to drag the blankets around his shoulders. She was patting the thick blankets down, making sure it covered him properly.

“I don’t need to be babied.” He muttered in embarrassment, wetting his cracked lips with the warm water.

“You’re always so busy taking care of everyone.” Bristel said quietly. “Let us take care of you for once. You don’t always have to walk off and pretend you’re fine after having an attack like that.”

Their friendship caused a dull ache in his chest. He remembered all the times he has to pretend he’s fine after an attack, having to shake off the concerned looks. Remained standing on his own two feet with sheer willpower. Forcing himself to keep himself together. Smiled and nodded and ignored the fact that he’s falling apart inside.

“Go to sleep, Gale.” Madge said.

The firm timbre of her voice quelled the protest that raised to his lips. He was too tired to argue, but he was stubborn so he tried anyway.

“I’m not tired. I—I can’t sleep.” He tried to get up, but Madge’s weight on his legs pinned him down. She stroked the side of his neck, pushing him down gently.

“You’re already halfway gone.” She pointed out. “Go to sleep. We’re not going anywhere.”

 _That’s_ the main problem, he thought, but he’s already drifting off, sleep’s a tempting mistress.

He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to feel safe.

He’s already asleep before he could formulate an argument.


	9. grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In District 12, Madge Undersee grieved for her parents’ deaths. Gale tried to help.

After the war, as people set about rebuilding their homes, he helped. Thom and Bristel have been helping out in the reconstructing, their own homes destroyed by the bombs. They have taken refuge in one of his many rooms in his home.

It’s not like those empty rooms was going to be useful for anything anyway.

As people started to rebuild, they chose a plot of land just outside the fence to bury the dead. They have also torn down the fence, and now there was no longer a boundary separating the District from the forest.

On good days, he would leave the house and tried to help as much as he could. Keeping busy was a good way to distract himself from his mind.

Nowadays, he dropped by at least once a week to visit the graves. Some of the graves were nameless. Little bodies of Seam orphans that wandered the streets homeless, who no one remembered.

All the numbers that lay dead beneath the soil and dirt. Simple statistics in the eyes of the Capitol. Who the fuck cared about a couple of unknown kids, right?

 _He_ cared. Or tried to, anyway. It’s the only way he knew how to cope after the war.

It’s terrifying how easy to fall apart after all the fighting and rebelling was done, when recovering was supposed to come easy.

He idly swiped a dust of dirt on a nameless tomb, staring musingly at the stone. He noticed a flicker of yellow – the yellow of a dandelion, and raised his head. There she was, Madge Undersee, crouched in front of a pair of headstones up ahead.

For a second, he wanted to turn and leave. But, he remembered her kindness and comfort, and steeled himself. Courage made him walked up to her silently.

He stopped behind her, caught a glimpse of the dried tears on her pale cheeks. In his head, a voice continued to urge him to leave. His heart was still too heavy with grief to shoulder Madge’s sorrow.

“On the day the bombs hit, I managed to escape alive because I was with your family.” She whispered. “I tried to run back, to get my parents out. I was too late. I watched the bombs fell over my house.” She attempted a smile, but failed. “The flames were so hot. I was... just right at the gates. Thom had to pull me away. Sometimes, I dreamt that I could hear my mother screaming inside the house.”

“You can’t think like that.” He said softly. Hesitantly, he slipped down onto his knees beside her. In her hands, clutched a few stalks of wildflowers, her knuckles white around them. “Can’t think of maybes and what ifs. It’s going to haunt you forever. It’s not your fault you can’t save them.”

A sob broke from her lips.

“It’s not your fault.” He repeated, because if there’s one thing he’s sure about this fucked situation, it’s no fault of Madge that she couldn’t save her parents.

“I missed them.” Madge choked around another sob. “I think of them every day.”

He hasn’t lost his family like she did. And thank god everyday he still has his mother, and Posy, and Rory, and Vick. He doesn’t know what he would do if he lost them as well.

But he has lost his father, and he knew grief.

“It’s not going to get better.” He said. “But the pain... will lessen with time.”

“I wish I had die with them.” Madge confessed.

A shiver of pain in his chest at that mere thought. His pulse jumped at the possibility of Madge dying with her parents in that house, if he had not asked her to watch over his family.

“I would miss you.” He said, very softly. He would miss her, he would sit in front of her tomb thinking of maybes and what ifs. Her memory would be steeped with his guilt and failure, another notch of regret on his belt.

She finally looked away from the headstones, her brown eyes wide with surprise. It caught him, like a fish snagged on a hook. He doesn’t look away.

The surprise slowly petered out from her expression. She glanced back to the headstones, but her hand reached out to hold onto his. With her other hand, she brushed her fingers over her parents’ names, murmured a prayer under her breath before she stood up. She lay the wildflowers between their headstones.

Their hands were still clutched together.

“Let’s go home.” She whispered.


	10. the 72nd hunger games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Victors’ during the 72nd Hunger Games.

Finnick had to resist growling under his breath at his female tribute’s obstinacy. Coral was one of the few girls that didn’t go starry-eyed over him. In fact, she seemed to delight in aggravating him.

She was overly confident of her own abilities, rarely took heed of his advices and seemed to treat her male partner with disdain. She was the top of her class, and was beautiful enough to turn heads every time she walked past. Obtaining sponsors for Coral was easy enough that Finnick barely had to try.

If he had to admit, there’s a high chance that Coral would win. Her only real competitor was Calix from District 1, and Finnick had secured an alliance with the golden twins. If Coral was smart, she would cooperate with the other Careers until she could seize an opportunity to take down her greatest competitor.

He grabbed the chance to look through the other tributes. Most of them doesn’t stand out this year, although Chaff’s boy looked promising. Haymitch’s boy was stronger and healthier than most of the kids that he brought to the Capitol yearly, but his brusque attitude hadn’t won him any fans. Even though he’s pretty to look at – with his dark inky hair, stormy eyes and sharp features, that almost permanently hostile look in those wild eyes unnerved him.

If anything, Haymitch’s boy would survive the bloodbath with sheer fury alone. But Finnick doubted he would survive till the last eight.

District 12 hasn’t won for twenty-two years after all.

* * *

Johanna doesn’t hold much hope for her tributes. They were weak, frightened and meek, and she very much doubted that they were playing the tactic of pretending to be weak.

As she had predicted, the bloodbath killed off her girl immediately. She doesn’t want to sound callous, but to survive the yearly mentoring, she had to learn how to numb her grief. It was difficult, as this was her first year. But she was good in pretending, in distancing herself from people – even if they were kids that she’s sentencing to their deaths.

She didn’t remember their names, or their ages, and when her boy died, she valiantly tried to erase their faces from her head.

Instead, she concentrated on the screen and the remaining tributes left alive.

She scoffed out loud at the aftermath of the confrontation of District 8’s girl and the tributes from 12. They clearly knew each other, and _well_ , from what she could tell. But sympathy and sentimentality have no place in the bloody arena.

She was proven right when the girl from 8 died before the sun set. But she felt no satisfaction, just a muted sorrow and pity for Cecelia and Woof.

When the boy from 3 died after that, she got up and left her seat, filled with helpless rage. The urge to hit something nearly overwhelmed her, preferably Snow’s nose.

Even though she had Blight by her side, she felt horribly alone.

* * *

Emmer was strong and hardy, tall and lithe with densely packed muscles from working at the fields every day.

Chaff had high hopes for his boy, and he knew that he had chosen his winner when Emmer was reaped. It has been years since District 11 has seen a winner, and he barely felt any guilt for neglecting his female tribute.

They had to choose the person with the best chance, and Seeder was soft-hearted enough to try to save their girl. She knew as well as he did that Emmer was the better choice, but she hated making any of their tributes felt like they were a lost cause.

She always chose to mentor the ones with the worst chance, and Chaff loathed the heartbreak that their deaths always brought her.

He watched as Emmer attacked the tributes from 12. He grimaced, looking around for Haymitch. Both of their Districts were the poorest in Panem, and Chaff has always advised his tributes to ally with 12 if possible. But 12 had chosen to ally with each other this year.

He saw the moment the District 12 girl fell with the bolt in her neck, and the anger that flared up in storm grey eyes. The crunch of Emmer’s skull shattering was deafening in his ears, and he watched with barely concealed shock as his boy went limp.

District 11 was out of the running, but his attention remained seized in the District 12 girl’s death. There was something breathlessly potent about the girl’s dying breaths, her eyes shining hazel in the ray of the sun. She tried to speak, blood bubbling at her neck wound as she breathed shallowly. The mics wasn’t able to capture her reply, and she was gone before the Capitol could even wonder at the precious name she had given her partner.

Haymitch’s boy leaned down to kiss her gently on the forehead, and for the first time, the hostility that accompanied him seemed to soften – making him looked heartbreakingly human.

If Emmer couldn’t win, then Chaff was going to place his bet on 12. It’s the only way he could be satisfied with this year’s Games.

* * *

Mags was the oldest remaining Victor alive. She has mentored dozens of tributes, and has gone through decades of the Games. She has seen the darkness of the Capitol, and had long been desensitized to the depravities. But that does not make her completely immune to the horrors.

And watching the feline mutt devoured Beetee’s girl was horrifying. She has seen worst. Hell, she has mentored and brought home the youngest Victor ever in history. She had condemned him to a life of prostitution.

But the District 3 girl’s screams were loud and shrill, a sound that sent a chill down her spine. Perhaps it was the begging and the screaming, or perhaps it was the look of sheer terror in Haymitch’s boy’s eyes, but Mags felt sickened and had to rip her gaze away from the blood-soaked ground and mangled body.  

She had thought it was the end of the boy’s life, but miraculously, he managed to escape. She recognized the agility and swiftness of his feet, a mark of an experienced hunter. She has no time to wonder how a poverty-stricken child could learn the art of hunting so fast within three days, before she was swept up by the battle between the boy and the mutt.

When the mutt finally went utterly still, she felt the firm knowledge of Gale Hawthorne winning settled over her head.

She saw not a tribute, but a survivor.

* * *

Gale Hawthorne was the single most frustrating, ridiculously wilful tribute that Haymitch has ever had the displeasure to mentor in the last two decades.

He was also the first person in a long time to raise a flutter of hope in his chest.

Behind the stubbornness and biting temper, he could see a mind like a steel trap. The kid has a survivalist mindset, and he was fiercely protective of Sara. The sort of person willing to do anything to protect something precious to him. And Haymitch was intimately familiar with how dangerous a person could be when something they were protecting was threatened. It could turn a mouse into a lion, and it could turn a person who has never killed a person before to kill.

Haymitch never said he doesn’t like that side of him.

Unfortunately, attempting to nurture whatever non-existent ‘charming’ attributes in Gale was a lost cause. The boy refused to cooperate, and he hated the Capitol with the force of a wildfire. He was lucky that he was good-looking enough, and that his dark, sharp humour was enjoyed by the majority of the Capitol.

Losing Sara had nearly broke Gale, and despite knowing who he had chosen, Haymitch felt a pain in his chest and had to look away from seeing his girl died.

 _Forgive me,_ he had begged, and knew that Sara Alder would join his nightmares soon enough.

And when Gale won, he hoped that it’s enough to start making up for all the lives he couldn’t bring back home.


	11. phantom pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-second rebellion.

Gale’s scars were a latticework of bright pinkish-white marks that puckered over his skin from the top of his back to the back of his thighs. Sometimes on bad days when his skin felt over sensitized, he could feel his shirt brushing over the raised scars, and phantom pain would cause his muscles to unconsciously seize up in fear.

In the first few months after the war, he would be paralysed from the neck down whenever the pain got too bad. He could only curl up in his bed in agony, arms wrapped around his waist tightly as if he could hold down the pain with sheer willpower.

Aster had told him that his problem was purely psychological. The whipping had torn his flesh from his muscles, and District 13 had to graft on new skin over the gashes. It had taken him several months before he could stop feeling the pain. He has gotten used to the ever-present soreness and twinges of pain that accompanied his every movement, so used to it that it was barely a thought on his mind during his training.

Now with the war over, he was abruptly cut off from the action and the adrenaline. There was far too much free time on his hands as he ‘recuperated’ in District 12.

It wasn’t always that terrible. Sometimes, he just need to sit down for a moment. He has learned to put up with the pain.

Pain was a constant in his life, whether it was the gnawing ache of his hunger, the grief in his heart or the intense addiction that wracked his body with fever and chills. He felt like he had spent his entire childhood fighting for his life, and now with nothing to fight for, he’s left floundering on dry land.

“Gale? You alright?” Rory asked worriedly, dragging him out of the haze of pain. He had stumbled into the chair as soon as he felt the first wave of tremor in his limbs.  

“I—” He broke off, grimacing as another wave of pain hit. He wasn’t able to stay up straight anymore, and he curled over in the chair. He could feel his breathing picked up, something clenching tight in his chest.

“I’m fine.” He managed to say. He just needed a short rest. Or to curl up in his bed and ride out the ripples of pain in his body. “I just need—”

When he stood up, his legs suddenly lost strength and he collapsed. He grabbed the edge of the table in panic, and the pitcher of water tipped over.

“Ma!” Rory shouted in alarm, lunging forward to catch him around his waist. “Is it your back again, Gale?”

When he tried to speak, what came out from his mouth was a stuttered groan instead. He was in too much pain to feel embarrassed as he nodded breathlessly in response to Rory’s query.

It felt like a million tiny pin needles stabbing his back continuously, the pain growing more severe as each second passed.

“It’s his back again.” Rory whispered somewhere from above his head.

He felt a cool hand cupped his cheek, lifting up his face to peer at him worriedly. Hazelle has gotten used to her eldest son’s periodic fits, and she has learned to handle them ever since they started, but she never failed to feel worried or anxious whenever it happened.

“Can you stand, darling?” Hazelle asked.

He released a shaky breath, blinking his tears away. He nodded in assent, not trusting his voice at the moment. Slowly, he leaned against Rory, and helped by Hazelle on his other side, got to his feet unsteadily.

The three of them managed to climb up to the second floor with much difficulty, until Thom returned from his daily rebuilding efforts and carried him all the way to his room.

“Sorry.” He muttered against his friend’s shoulder, feeling like he had just run a marathon around the woods instead of a short climb up the stairs.

“Hey, I told you it’s alright.” Thom shrugged, accidentally nudging him lightly in the cheek in the process. “As much as you like to pretend you’re invincible, this is not the sort of pain you can just _ignore_.”

“Mrs Everdeen said that this is all just... _psychological_.” He sighed tiredly, the sceptical shift in his expression showing just what he actually thought of that word.

“Don’t try to make it sounds petty.” Thom glared. “It’s not something you have to suffer in silence even though _you think_ it’s imaginary.”

“On your stomach.” Hazelle commanded, bustling into the room.

Rory clambered onto the bed to help him shifted onto his stomach as instructed. Hazelle gently settled the hot water bottle on his back – an invention that had greatly helped in his phantom pains in the last few weeks. Warmth spread over his back, like a balm against the ache. The tension in his muscles loosened slightly, and he practically sobbed in relief, the hiccups caught in his throat. Aster had warned him off morphlings, no matter how bad it got, cautious that he might fall back into his addiction once more. So, he has no choice but to resort to this method to soothe his pain.

“Thank you.” He said hoarsely.

Rory patted him absently on his arm, moving the hot water bottle every few minutes so that it wouldn't accidentally scalded his skin.

“If it really hurts,” Thom muttered under his breath, casting a wary look at Hazelle. “I can get you morphling. It should be fine in small doses.”

He shook his head, and felt a sudden surge of affection for his friend.

“Thanks, but... I’m fine.” He rasped.

Thom gripped his arm and slipped out of the bed.

“Next time, call for help.” Hazelle came back to his side, a look of disapproval on her face. “You know your body better than anyone. Don’t let the pain get too much before you ask for help.” Her eyes softened and she ran her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “Go to sleep, Gale.”

He murmured drowsily, his head swimming in the comforting heat. He caught a glimpse of an amused grin on Thom’s face before he slipped away from awareness.


	12. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thom has a nightmare. Gale could relate.

_He’s back in the sewage tunnel, and the stench of human waste and garbage so real he nearly gagged on it._

_Katniss was up ahead, looking back to fire frantically into the darkness. Gunfire exploded near his head and he flinched in surprise, ducking instinctively._

_His boots made a loud squelching noise as he tried to wade through the dirty, muddy water. For some reason, it felt even harder than he remembered to move through the sludge. He stopped briefly to regain back his breath, his chest shuddering with frenzied gasps -- when suddenly an inhuman shriek echoed in the tunnel._

_His heartrate picked up in fear, and he turned back just in time to see half a dozen of lizard mutts scurried towards his direction. The sludgy water rippled, pouring into his boots, and he glanced down to see blood. He backed away instantly, and his heel knocked against something solid._

_He spun around, saw Finnick and Gale’s bodies, and fell back in shock._

_The lizard mutts descended upon him immediately._

 

Thom woke up flailing in panic, his heart racing and his shirt damp with cold sweat and sticking against his skin. He stared blankly into the darkness of his room, gulping in desperate air. All of a sudden, he missed Delly’s warmth and soft body beside him. The bed felt horribly empty, and he ached to run to her right now.

But it’s cold outside and Delly would probably not be happy to see him running about in the District at such an ungodly hour.

 _She’s coming back tomorrow_ , he reminded himself. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he shakily slipped out of bed. His legs felt weak as he trudged out of his room, and he used the wall as support just in case he collapsed.

To his surprise, the kitchen light was on when he walked down the stairs.

“Gale?” He called out quietly.

The other man was sitting at the dining table, a mug of beverage steaming slightly between his hands. Gale looked up with tired eyes, his complexion startlingly pale in the dim lighting.

“Can’t sleep?” Gale asked wryly.

He shrugged in response, joining him at the table. He took a moment to study Gale’s face. The latter looked like he hasn’t slept for days. Which was probably not too far from the truth. He could hear Gale screaming three doors away during the last few nights.

“Want to talk about it?” Gale said abruptly.

He raised a brow at him in incredulity and faint amusement. Gale looked uncomfortable despite his offer. Unlike himself, Gale was even worse with talking about _feelings_.

“Nightmares, you know. The usual.” He shrugged. The nightmare still weighed on his mind, but he couldn’t help but smile. “People dying.” He hesitated, worrying his bottom lip. Gale’s eyes were steady and calm, and he felt strangely buoyed by the lack of judgement. “The tunnel.”

“Ah.” Gale nodded. He took a sip of his beverage. “I can see why you have nightmares of that. Those lizards can be rather terrifying.”

Understatement of the year.

“I saw bodies.” He swallowed. “Finnick and... yours.”

Gale looked away. Something flickered in his face, but it was gone when Thom took a second look. His expression has returned to its usual exhausted, apathetic stare.

“I’m not too sure if I can give you any advice about that.” Gale smiled. It was a wolf’s smile, but there was no edge to it. “My past coping methods has never been... really healthy.”

He stood up suddenly, heading towards the stove. Thom watched him curiously as he poured the hot liquid simmering in the pot into another mug.

“Maybe this would help.” Gale said, placing the mug in front of him.

He caught a whiff of the mysterious drink in front of him.

“Is this your shitty tea?” He asked bluntly.

He succeeded in bringing forth a smile on Gale’s lips.

“It’s to help with nerves and sleep troubles.” Gale explained. “Don’t complain before you try it. Now drink the shitty tea.”

He sighed out loud, partly in exaggeration. He lifted the mug to his mouth, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Summoning his courage, he gulped the tea down.

“Hell! I think this helps in waking me up instead!” He coughed.

Gale shrugged, unconcerned. “It takes a while before it works.”

He glanced down and stared into the pale-yellow liquid. The tea rippled slightly as he shook the mug idly. With a sigh, he lifted the mug to his lips once more. He forced himself to concentrate on the burn of the liquid going down his throat instead of the strong, bitter taste.

“Does it ever get better?” He asked. “Like the nightmares and paranoia. Will it ever just... stop?”

Gale looked pensive, staring into his own mug of half-empty tea.

“If I know the answer to that, would I be sitting in the kitchen at 3am in the morning?” He laughed dryly.

He doesn’t know what to reply to that.

“I suppose the only answer is to just... continue on.” Gale said. “See where life decided to take you from now on.” He shrugged, a bitter smirk gracing his face. “Since everyone just insisted on making you live, you have to suck it up and do that, right? Maybe if you fight long enough, one day the nightmares will stop like you want.”

“You don’t have to fight anymore, you know that, right?” He said softly. “The war is over.”

Gale looked up at him, his eyes dark like the night sky in the shadows of the kitchen.

“Yeah, I guess the first thing is to remind yourself of that.” He murmured in response. He stood up, took one final gulp of his tea before dumping the empty mug into the sink. He reached out to squeeze Thom’s shoulder as he brushed past. “Go to sleep, Thom.”

His footsteps were silent as he padded out of the kitchen. Thom watched him go with a solemn frown before finishing his own tea and went back to his room.

He didn’t manage to sleep a wink.


	13. saving a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thom and Bristel had only joined up for the sake of Gale. If no one was willing to spare resources to find Gale Hawthorne, then they had to take action. They were the first on the scene.

Bristel were bouncing nervously on her heels as Thom worked to get the doors open. She could hear shouting down the corridor, the sounds of cell doors being broken into.

“Are you done?” She snapped, pulling up the cloth higher around her neck, her voice muffled by the breathing mask around her face. Sleeping gas twirled lazily around her ankles.

“One second.” Thom gasped before backing away.

She pressed the detonating device onto the centre of the door and pulled Thom back as she released the trigger. The lock mechanism exploded and she kicked the door in.

“Gale!” Thom, the reckless fool, rushed into the cell instantly.

She followed him in swiftly, and nearly ran into Thom’s frozen back. As she looked around his body, what she saw froze her straight to the bone.

Blood everywhere. So much blood splattered across the floor, pooling under the still body. For a brief moment, her heart stopped as the terror filled her. Had they come too late to save their friend?

She didn’t realize Thom had regained his wits and was now kneeling down beside Gale’s body. His hand was shaking violently as he pressed two fingers against the cold neck. She pretended she didn’t see the frightened tears in Thom’s eyes, because she’s not better off.

“He’s alive.” Thom choked. “He’s still alive.”

The terror seeped out of her, but her relief was short-lived as she caught a glimpse of Gale’s back when Thom gently turned him over. _Gods_. Deep, bleeding gashes marked up his back, still oozing blood. Her stomach churned with nausea as she saw white gleaming under the blood.

Abruptly, white-hot fury replaced her fear.

Suddenly, she wants to charge after Gale’s tormenters and kill them all. She wants to make all the bastards _pay_ for hurting her friend. She wants to burn down this fucking building.

She wants to hurt _somebody._

It was not enough that the Capitol had stolen Gale’s innocence, not enough to have strip him of his dignity. It hurts to know how much her friend had been suffering for the past three years. No, it _pissed_ her off.

“What do I do?” Thom was panicking. “There’s—There’s so much blood. Shit.”

She forcefully pushed down the blistering rage. She stood up suddenly and rushed out of the cell.

“Hey,” She yelled, infusing her voice with as much authority as possible. To her surprise, the three soldiers nearby snapped to attention. “Someone gets me a stretcher in here. _Now_.”

Without looking back to see if they understood the urgency of her command, she ran back in.

“Stay calm.” She said sharply to Thom, ripping off her jacket from her body, leaving her only in her bulletproof vest and shirt. Contrary to her curt tone, her hands were gentle and uncertain as she draped the jacket over Gale’s back, making sure she doesn’t jostle his spine.

She could hear footsteps shuffling into the cell behind her, but didn’t turn around to look. Her only concern was Gale.

She lay him flat on the floor, making sure his head and spine rest straight, before standing up to leave her friend to the medics’ hands.

“He’s going to be alright, right?” Thom asked, heartbreakingly scared.

This fucking war has taken enough from them. Gale was never supposed to be captured and tortured by the Capitol. Thom was never supposed to sound this uncertain and frightened.

Bristel was so sick of seeing her friends hurt.

If—no, _when_ Gale recovered, she’s going to make sure nothing like this ever happens to her boys again, not if she can help it.


End file.
